GIRL SPEAKS: bitch is being a bitch

sometimes i wonder if i actively choose to make my life complicated or if im just complicated and i cant help it – its a part of me.

it seems like i cant stop aggravating people lately; whether intentional or not, i cant stop snipping at people, pulling away from the physical touch and acts of affection. maybe im too stubborn to admit that im not always right.

i guess you can call me a hypocrite – someone who constantly bitches, goes off for no reason in particular but cant handle being spoken to in a harsher tone of voice or yelled at (i retaliate or i crumble – fight or flight taking action).

i crumbled today.

my boyfriend takes the short end of the stick with my parents as a close second when it comes to my emotional outburts, my constant lashing out and fussiness, unwillingness to forgive and forget because i feel wronged (remember, im always the victim, at least in my eyes).

everyone keeps saying im too emotional.

what does it even mean to control your emotions?

i truly believe that im incapable of controlling my emotions (physically or emotionally) even with therapy, with benzos, with support and love.

sometimes i think my parents have started to love me less in the past few years because im a pain in the ass. even my boyfriend tells me that im wearing on him, with my constant chaos, explosive anger and uncompromising temperament. sometimes i feel like theyre obligated to love me, as if i were some chore on the list that needs to be dealt with.

my parents say their love is unconditional – but is it? theyll leave me one day and im terrified for that day.

and im scared my boyfriends going to get fed up and leave me, once he realizes im not worth the trouble – and i cant handle being alone. is it time to find other options in case he leaves me?

i dont think he can love me forever (people always leave).

when im mad, im fucking livid. and i want justice – for all the things wronged, things taken.

im toxic and i know it. i just cant help it.

i dont want to lose my relationship with my parents, but being scolded for having a voice, yelled at to “listen,” i cant handle it. i just left my parents home, still reeling, still angry despite all the shit theyre going through with my evil, deluded aunts (we can call them “thing 1” and “thing 2”; for what was supposed to be a relaxing staycation and an escape from my life as it is (i need to gain some clarity), it was a fucking disaster.

and im sorry to my parents, that i cant learn to shut the fuck up and i feel the need to interrupt because im tired of always listening, that theyre under a lot of stress unrelated to me but im selfish enough to just walk out anyway to prove that they can lose me if this trend continues.

and im sorry to my boyfriend, who i put down more than i want and i wear the passive aggression and use it against him. and when he snapped last weekend after bitch (me) was being a bitch, all i wanted was to escape to my parents home, a retreat to all thats familiar. i was so excited for this weekend.

but look how well that worked out? jokes on me.

and i wonder whether love can ever actually be unconditional, as i grind peoples gears and continually poke the bear to get some form of reaction.

i dont think anyone can love me unconditionally at this point. damaged goods and too many emotions and breakdowns – who wants trash?

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH SHORT HAIR: a creature-of-habit dreads change

when i was five, i received underwear as a birthday present, a gift from my then-best friend’s mom. she had assumed my family was so completely broke, unable to afford any clothing for me other than the only jeans she ever saw me in, worn out and tattered, covered with patches added weekly to cover the holes, and the two sweatshirts i wore interchangeably, for year’s on end.

it was an act of charity.

at twenty-five, i find bittersweet humor in that moment — five year-old me with straight bangs, wearing a lime green tee with the little mermaid embroidered onto it, eagerly shredding the pink wrapping paper to reveal a three-set of powderpuff girls underwear.

at five years-old, i was unaware and oblivious of how others perceived me. i didn’t give a shit what you thought about me — words like self-conscious and insecure didn’t resonate. i was just happy to exist in my own brain space, a place where i played pretend and based my identity around whichever character i fixated on.

i was obsessed with disney’s a bug’s life, a phase in my childhood where my entire life was dictated by the film — my mother fondly recalls me rejecting my real name to my kindergarten teacher and insisting on going by the name of flik. donning either the forest green crewneck with a graphic of flik’s face or the pink fleece with an embroidering of atta, i embodied my infatuation.

so maybe things haven’t changed that much since i was a kid — sure, my world doesn’t revolve around a bug’s life anymore but old habits die hard and sometimes, the only thing that keeps me from forgetting the past is resisting the change that evolves over time.

time-and-time again, i still find myself refusing to try anything new. theres a comfort that comes with consistency, the word “change” forbidden and overwhelming for all the unknowns it can bring. its fear of the unknown, really.

girl who orders the same dishes each and every time we dine out (if girl even eats – thanks, adderall); girl who cant admit to herself that her current living situation with three (previously, four) roommates cant last forever because she cant stand the idea of being alone; girl whos kept the unbrushed and messy ombre hair for years just because one of her infatuations said he loved it.

i lopped off my hair in september 2020, and it was a change that terrified me. its the letting go, the tidal wave of emotions, the new starts and the endings – truly, the end of an era. a time for new beginnings and moving on from my past self, my identity.

so maybe thats what it comes down to – loss of identity. can you even lose your identity if you dont know who the fuck you are?

sometimes, im certain of who i am – a mid-grade hoarder, who cant stand the thought of my belongings being (feeling) lost or seeing food tossed from the fridge even if i dont really eat; loud typer at work with my headset volume turned to 100 to block out the noise, both in my head and in the outside world; lover of youngboy and someone whos mood is determined for the rest of the day by a song; a girl with heightened emotions and the occasional outbursts and a great fear of rejection or being disliked.

the occasional people pleaser, but also someone whos not afraid to cuss you out and threaten you with her plastic “brass knuckles” cat keychain when crossed or spoken to in the wrong way. and i know i anger people too. i do it on purpose, poking the bear and being a pain in the ass (for fun).

for someone who wants people to like her, i sure have a way of pushing peoples buttons and burning bridges, caution tape wrapped around dead friendships because i always leave first (before i am left). i make plans i never intended on keeping in the first place, i cancel last minute and i dont reply for weeks (or maybe ever).

most days, i have no fucking idea who i am, what my purpose in this lifetime is other than to play karma and be the vengeance that other people deserve (and asked for).

i dont know who the fuck i am. but i have short hair now, permed silky smooth, a 180 to how my hair was previously, a cleanse of my past. and i wish cutting my hair (the thing i dreaded the most as a kid), suddenly gave me a better understanding of who i am and why im here.

and maybe im still learning to let go, traumas hidden in the shadows as i continue to run from them, the lessons learned never truly sinking in. maybe ill never be ready to let go, because moving on from the past traumas threaten my fragile identity as it stands.

so maybe thats who i am – girl afraid of the future, but also afraid of the past, just passing the days by lying to herself (and others) while simmering internally with anger.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH BLOG: my intention was never for this to be depressing

is the glass half empty or half full?

glass half empty (10000%).

maybe i expect the worst of everything. i mean, the worlds a fucking shitshow. im a mess and i cant clean myself up. i cannot accept reality yet im angry at this world, the higher powers or whatever karmic universe that controls us like puppets from the beyond.

and this was never my intention: a repeat of my tumblr days, my continued qualms with life itself. this was supposed to be fun – about the memories i want to keep.

“i wanna paint down my memories, so i dont forget.”

and ive forgotten so much – scatterbrained, empty-minded and stumbling my way through. memories are all thats left and im ashamed and terrified of all that ive forgotten, moments that meant something but i was too black-out to recall.

“the darkness doesnt have any answers.”

and thats what it call comes down to – the vulnerability, the pain, the heaviness. looking for answers in the wrong places, my darkness.

the feeling that the world owes me for what its taken, whats lost. anger, geared at anyone who dares step into my war path. i hate. and i keep hating people, circumstances, the way life plays out. i hate the higher powers who clearly havent given a flying fuck, watching us scramble, tittering to each other as we suffer.

“what happened to us?”

in my world, its so fucking black and white. tiptoeing that fine line between love and hate, walking on thin ice thats crackling with every step. instability? clarity? who the fuck knows.

im taking my anger out on all the wrong people – but theres just so much to be livid about. and if there was a blinking red *SOS* button in my brain to turn it all off – the “stop using others as a human punching bag”, the guilt of brainfog and lack of memory, tragedy.

and in this world, are we just infatuated by the idea of love or is it remotely possible to be in love (if we dare admit it)? is it real love? or love due to convenience?

why is it so hard for me to admit love or show that i care?

i dont know. i guess im still trying to find the answers to that one.

and lastly, “people always leave.”

and it was never my intention to hurt those i love the most.

but its easier to be the one leaving. its easier to give someone reasons to leave you, self-sabotage to barricade the lonely heart, the one who plays the mindgames and tests the other as vulnerability lingers above me – the enemy, like a black cloud.

it was never my intention, my 2013 angsty tumblr days (take two).

and im not really sure what to do anymore. maybe were all broken, and we just learn to deal – to function – as if we were shattered pieces of a porcelain doll, precariously pasted back together with an elmers gluestick. maybe were all hot fucking messes who cover it up with fake smalltalk, cheap facades to hide who we really are underneath the mask, the things weve mourned, the shit life has put us through, the truths and realities we want to bury.

my intention for this blog was so i could remember – the good and the bad, cherished moments and moments where i need a safe space to empty out my thoughts.

im just trying to find the healing in all of this – in writing, in music, in art. to have faith in people, and not thinking the worst in everybody right off the bat.

im just trying.

and thats probably all i can ask for right now.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH REFLECTIONS: a confession

if i thought 2021 was disturbing, i dont even know what to call 2022. a nightmare from hell? a shitshow? a wakeup call that were all supposed to be fucking miserable in this lifetime and all we can do is to learn to live with this heaviness?

i dont even FUCKING know at this point.

in retrospect, maybe 2021 wasnt as horrible as i had made it out to be – a depressing exaggeration of one-sided fights (in my head) with my boyfriend; hiding in my closet (literally), my refuge and safe haven from this unkind world; a belief that happiness is fleeting, an unattainable goal that we blindly chase with a false sense that we would ever achieve said “happiness.”

maybe 2021 wasnt as horrible as i had thought (maybe i would have posted more if “fun” was absolutely nonexistent in my life or maybe its the benzos that have literally obliterated my short-term memory, which recognizes sadness and anger more than the positive emotions). for someone whos cherished memories and feeling for all my life (heart on my sleeve or whatever BS), its ironic how much ive induced my own amnesia (is this my heaven or hell?).

in times of loneliness and trauma, my first instinct had always been to write in order to release those toxic, bottled up emotions that live rent free in my little low IQ mind. maybe i have nothing left to say anymore, or i realize that my words dont matter.

i let my thoughts rot, letting them devour my braincells as i weep to myself in a corner – and it doesnt fucking matter.

so today i take relief in klonopin, to make myself more of a smooth brain, to feel less so i could be “normal” and mildly functional.

i crave floating on clouds with quiet, nonintrusive thoughts: nothing matters, nothing exists. not you, not me, just complete silence.

and lately, numbness is my only retreat – to feel absolute nothing (the cleanest feeling in the world imo), to continue existing in my dreamworld where people we have lost are just “traveling to a foreign land” and not gone (forever), fantasy fueled by pills and time-traveling for days at a time because life is fucking miserable.

so heres my question for whatever this shitty ass universe has to offer, only to collect our miseries and suffering: am i supposed to expect that each year gets worse and worse or am i a spoiled little bitch that always needs to have her way? or do i just lack appreciation or awareness for the moments as they unwind in real time, only to reflect later: “it wasnt so bad.”

its the high highs and low lows with no sense of middle ground or stability, rollercoaster of emotions torpedoing over my life.

but the high highs – those moments make life bearable. “tiny dots on an endless timeline.”

just tiny dots, endless timeline – moments worth remembering, moments well pine the rest of our lives for knowing well never get them back, moments wed rather obliterate, concealed in the shadows of our minds.

looking back, 2021 wasnt awful at all – breakdowns (yes, of fucking course) but also cherished memories with those who are still here and those we will reunite with on the other side.

im not okay. im absolutely not fucking okay, but ill plaster on a fake dollfaced smile, and when people ask me how im doing, the autoresponse so theyd not interrogate further: “im fine.”

im fine. just fine. nothing is wrong, and nothing exists.

GFY, fleur (on klonopin)